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by smittykittyn
Summary: Modern UsUk AU; Cyborg! Alfred, Android! Arthur; Rated M - Mature ((LOTS OF SMUT)). TW: War, Amputee(s). Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!
1. PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

The Japanese sold the technology to the Americans, who were the first to create a working prototype. Even today, some 200 years after, the technology is impressive.

They called her LUCY, named after the ape; and like that Lucy, this LUCY was the first of her kind. She was a human-like robot, deemed to have true artificial intelligence, and she changed the world forever.

In 2500, when hostilities between Russia, China, and the U.S arose, there became an increased need for androids. Thus was the birth of LUCY's siblings, LUCA and LUCA.S. LUCA, an acronym that stood for LIFELIKE, UNIFORMED, COMBAT ARESENAL, was the first model to be used for war purposes. Her model was copied billions of times over; she was a massive success. LUCA.S, her twin brother, was created but a few years later. For the most part, LUCA and LUCA.S shared the same operating system, but LUCA.S was a sentry model (hence the .S). He was used for reconnaissance, hacking, and special OPS.

When boots and bots hit the ground in 2545, U.S citizens soon recognized the need for non-human soldiers, and a bigger push for advanced robotics began almost immediately. 2551; Congress creates a new program called NAARC. NAARC, meaning North American Android and Robotics Corporation, pushed out several new models, and a few that were improvements to LUCA/LUCA.S.

In the year 2562, when the war finally ended with a victory for the U.S, NAARC became privatized. Soon Androids were being used for military and civilian jobs alike. A few years later, NAARC began selling the information to allies of the U.S. Japan, Britain, Canada, and South America soon had their own programs like NAARC, and were building their own Androids.

Japan had perfected the android to be used for domestic life, creating models like the Teacher Bot, Nanny Bot, and even bots designed for personal pleasure. They were the first to invent Touch Compatibility; an advancement to the standard silicone skin, which they filled with sensors so that your android could recognize and respond to touch. Needless to say, birth rates dropped drastically.

In Europe, they'd began creating androids that were more suitable for businesses and the likes. The U.K were the first to create the Secretary bot, who could take phone calls, record messages, and send e-mails. The Secretary bot was widely successful, and sold all over the world to large corporations.

Unfortunately, due to the global desire for robotics, and the dwindling of certain rare Earth metals used to make them, prices skyrocketed. And when another war broke out in 2701, the U.S found they had to be more conservative with their androids, and once again called upon it's citizens to take up arms.


	2. CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER ONE

THE CHURCH OF THE BEATING HEART

Alfred fiddles with the remote in his hand, with one thumb hovering just above the power button. CNN was on, reporting live from a riot that took place in a neighboring city. Some 50 people gathered, all religious fanatics that were constituents of a particular branch of Catholicism.

They belonged to the Church of the Beating Heart, a radical sect of the Catholic church that focused upon the damning of Androids and "Half-ers" to Hell. The Church was notorious for picketing funerals, creating blockades in front of colleges, robotics manufacturing companies, and even Wal-Mart. And while their crazed rantings were often a source of amusement for Alfred, he took personal insult when they began berating "Half-ers".

The politically correct term for a "Half-er" would be cyborg. Half-ers became popularized on the internet after the Second War, and was used to refer to amputees who sported robotic prosthetics. However, it was also used to degrade disabled civilians who gained access to the technology soon after veterans.

Alfred, who was a cyborg – or Half-er – had served in the Second War as an AMT, or Android Medical Technician. He and his unit, who were regarded as Special Forces, were trained engineers and mechanics, who also knew a thing or two about combat. They served on the fronts, providing aid to fallen Androids so that they could continue the fight. It was dangerous, and AMT's were highly susceptible to being KOS (killed on sight) or taken as POW's.

On the 8th month of his 9-month deployment, Alfred and his unit were caught up in one of the bloodiest battles of the war. Alfred, while trying to salvage the motherboard from a bot that was more than FUBAR, tripped a land mine and lost both legs and one arm. Before he was medically discharged, he was awarded the Purple Heart and had prosthetics put in place of his limbs.

The war raged on for 11 more years, and when it ended there were thousands of veterans like him. Suffering from some trauma, be it loss of limbs, brain injury, or what have you; and they were all heroes. Heroes who were belittled to nothing more than a Half-er, and now were being accused by this twisted Church to be worse than that.

Finally he wills himself to shut off the TV, having reached max 'religious whack-job' capacity. His attention shifts to the digital clock beside him, the projected time reading 6:45 A.M. Alfred reluctantly begins peeling himself from the reclining chair in which he sat. For a man who was just turning 26, he sure felt old. Moving, standing, walking. Simple tasks were anything but when nearly half your body was robotic. There was always a delay in movement; the computerized limbs had to take the time to convert mental commands into algorithms before they could respond. In addition to the delay, movements elicited corresponding whirrs and buzzes from the limbs. The little gears inside them spinning rapidly to enact the given command.

He begins making his way outside, headed towards the shop which he owned and operated. It was called "Alfred's Androids", and it was mostly a place where rich folk could come and get their bots diagnosed and repaired. Unfortunately, the location wasn't exactly prime. He lived in an older town, where very few people had enough money to waste on an android. And although he opened the shop with the hopes of practicing his trade, he made most of his money by fixing cell phones and computers. In addition to fixing bots, he sold pre-owned parts; mostly hardware. Out dated limbs, gently used joints and some accessories like chargers and HDMI cords (most models could be plugged into your home TV).


	3. CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER TWO

ARTHR MK. 3

The door chimes as it's swung open, disrupting the silence that Alfred had been working in. He looks up from his counter, setting down the old iPhone 8 he'd been working on.

"Can I help you?" He calls, leaning over to catch a glimpse at whomever entered his store.

It's an older woman, probably well within her 60's. She doesn't appear to be of significant wealth, save for the Secretary Bot she had in tow. It's eyes were dark and lifeless, and the barcode on it's arm read the numbers '0030579'. The serial code was familiar, being one of the newest generations of Secretary Bots to come out of the U.K. Becoming excited, Alfred bolts from his chair to greet the woman.

"Hello, ma'am, I'm Alfred. What can I do for you?" He says, voice warm and chipper, limbs whirring from the sudden action.

"Oh,' She begins, voice quivering and raspy. 'Yes, I'd like to sell my bot."

"Sell your bot?" Alfred asks, head canted to the side with obvious confusion.

"Yes, I'm afraid that's right. I bought this for my grandson's 7th birthday, but I'm afraid it's rather dull and he's not very amused by it."

Alfred tries to bite his tongue.

"Erk- well, I'll take the bot of course. But have you thought about returning it? These things just came off the market, and they always come with a standard warrantee." He says, now looking the bot over. It was an impressive piece of technology. Sleek, with the body of gymnast and the face of a model in his mid 20's.

"I did try, but they won't take him anymore. He's got a chip on his shoulder, if you can see…" She says, voice trailing off as she points to the slight gash in it's shoulder joint.

Alfred cups his chin in thought. He certainly wants the bot, but he doubts whether the turnout rate is worth the cost. No one in this town could even afford the insurance for this bot, let alone the bot itself. He then mulls over the idea of keeping it for himself, as a shopkeeper and a business man, it might be worthwhile to have some assistance.

"How much are you looking to sell it fo-' Alfred's immediately cut off by the woman.

"Fifteen-thousand."

Alfred scoffs audibly. "Fifteen-thousand?! I'm sorry, I know it's brand new but in this town? I couldn't sell it even if I tried."

"Well, I really want to get at least half of my investment back… but what about twelve-thousand?" She poses.

"Eight-thousand."

"Ten-thousand." She quickly counters. "Ten-thousand and I won't go any lower. I'll try another shop if I have to."

Alfred runs his mechanical hand over his face, groans, and then commits to the sale. Ten-thousand dollars later, the woman departs and Alfred is left alone with his shame and his new android.

After a few moments of staring, in which Alfred tries to determine whether or not the money was worth it, he begins plugging the bot into a wall-jack to charge; and while it charges, he quickly gets online to look up the robot's specs. The ARTHR (AUGMENTED RESOLUTION, TOUCH-COMPATIBLE, HUMANOID ROBOT) Mk. 3 Android comes standard with a one-week battery life, dual-intel processor, Voice Box by Dr. Dre – which seems like a frivolous thing for a Secretary, but Alfred shrugs that off – and Touch Compatible silicone skin manufactured by Sony.

His brows lift, but it's not that surprising. Who doesn't want to screw their secretary?


	4. CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER THREE

THE CHIP ON HIS SHOULDER

It had taken nearly 14 hours for ARTHR's battery to reach full capacity, another couple hours for his operating system to run some diagnostics, and another 45 minutes to finalize some updates. Alfred had already moved the bot into his house, and was waiting tentatively for it to power on.

He was in the kitchen when it happened; the Android chimed as it's computer finally began booting up. Alfred bolts into the living room, causing his limbs to whirr in protest. He stands there, panting, beads of sweat collecting on his brow.

And while it certainly wasn't the best image to wake up to, he didn't think it warranted the response he got.

"Ugh." The Android groans, it's voice animatronic. "Why are you breathing so hard?" It's face scrunched up, green-lit eyes traversing up and down Alfred. He didn't seem pleased.

"I-…You were powering up, I just came in to see it." Alfred offers, suddenly aware of his disposition.

"Have you ever seen a computer boot up? It's the same damned thing." It says, voice thick with disdain.

Alfred pursed his lips.

"Well? Are you just going to stand there?" It says, thick brows aloft. "Perhaps you haven't recognized, but I'm a touch exposed." The bot's hand then trails listlessly down it's bare figure.

Alfred blinks, and hesitates for a second to collect his thoughts. It may seem silly to have to dress an Android, but since the invention of Touch Compatibility, newer models were being produced with certain… parts.

"Sure." He finally says, and saunters off to his bedroom to fetch some clothing.

ARTHR follows after him, naked as the day he was born – had he of been born, of course – and made sure to nit pick anything he could.

"This wall color is hideous."

"Why did you pick a TAN carpet to go with BEIGE walls?' It asks incredulously. 'Do you want to drown in a sea of neutrals?"

Alfred remains silent, and wonders if he can adjust the Personality Settings.

"Oh—I'm sorry… Do you honestly expect me to wear that?" It exclaims, body leaning away from the clothes Alfred held towards it.

Alfred cants his head to the side. "What's wrong? It's a t-shirt and jeans?"

"Exactly. It's a T-shirt and jeans. Haven't you got anything nicer? Perhaps some steel-grey slacks that I can pair with, say… A baby-blue button down?" The bot enters the bedroom, completely uninvited, and begins rummaging through Alfred's closet.

Naturally, a Secretary Bot would only want to wear something that fell into the category of 'Business Casual'. Unfortunately for ARTHR mk. 3, Alfred was a technician and owned nothing of that sort.

"Agh!" ARTHR cries, an accompanying foot stomp following soon after. "I can't believe this!"

The Android begins cycling through the closet again, perhaps not convinced yet that this Human didn't own anything nicer than a pair of jeans and white t-shirt. And while it does that, Alfred allows himself the liberty of sizing the droid up.

He wondered who they picked to model the bot after. Because whoever it was, had a really nice body. Smooth, pale skin. An ass that was firm, and perfectly rounded with two dimples in the small of it's back. A sleek waist, artfully sculpted legs. And the front wasn't too bad either.

"You done staring?"

The pitched voice tears into Al's subconscious.  
"Ye? You get a good, long look, did you?" He accuses, hands placed on either side of it's hips. "Because when you're finished, I'd like a little privacy to dress myself."

"Oh—shit. Sorry, yeah." Alfred says, tripping over the words and wafting a hand dismissively. He lowers his gaze and quickly exits his own bedroom.

Once alone, Al huffs, "Yeah, he's got a chip on his shoulder alright."


	5. CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER FOUR

HOW TO BE SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO A ROBOT

Nearly a month had passed by—three weeks, two days, seven hours, and 14 minutes to be exact. And yes, Alfred was counting every. Single. Minute.

Being with ARTHR wasn't easy, and it certainly wasn't fun. When ARTHR was around – which, since that purchase, Alfred hadn't been able to get away from him – time seemed to come to a screeching halt. Thanks to the nagging, endless bickering, and overall sass, days with ARTHR stretched on for what felt like eternities.

"Alfred,' Came the now-familiar pitched and animatronic voice of his assistant, 'Look at these records."

Alfred rolled his eyes, but approached the android regardless. "Mm?" He hummed in question, leaning over ARTHR as he sat.

"Where the bloody hell is all your money going?! Look, here you've written down that you had $17,000 in the safe.' ARTHR gives a pause, his finger drifting down to the next entry in the spreadsheet. 'Yet here, you've only got $10,000? When did you make this log? You haven't entered a date since you started!" ARTHR wailed and rubbed his forehead in an exasperated manner.

Alfred didn't respond. Instead, he simply breathed and took a step backwards and away from the Secretariat.

Truth be told, Alfred wasn't the best business owner. He'd never faithfully maintained his records, was nearly always late on his lot rent, and the shop was always in a state of disarray. But since ARTHR's arrival, things had changed. The android, upon entering the shop, went on a cleaning blitz. By the end of that first day, everything had been dusted, swept, and organized accordingly. By the second week, Alfred's shop actually looked like… well, a shop. And now, the dawn of the third week, ARTHR was just finishing organizing the paperwork. Alfred was certainly pleased with his android assistant, even though the assistant seemed to be anything _but_ pleased with him.

"Alright, ARTHR,' Alfred began, throwing a beaten leather jacket over his shoulders. 'It's time to lock-up shop. We can finish the rest tomorrow."

He waited by the door for ARTHR to wrap things up. The android threw on a petticoat and approached, brows furrowed.

"Tst.' The bot scoffed, 'What do you mean /we/? I'm the one doing all the real work. You just sit around tinkering."

Alfred rolled his eyes and had just begun to push the door open when the bot stopped him.

"Wait! Just…wait.' It sighed. 'Honestly, I thought eventually you might clean yourself up, but since you haven't done so yet, allow me…" His voice trails off, and he begins grooming Alfred.

His robotic digits comb through Alfred's sandy-blonde hair, smoothing the locks down and undoing any tangles. Alfred swallows hard. The robot's touch is soft, gentle, like a caress, and it causes his cheeks to burn a bright red. ARTHR then begins brushing dirt from Alfred's broad shoulders and chest, then runs his hands down Al's sides to smooth out any wrinkles in the fabric.

When he finally pulls away, ARTHR's silicon flesh has turned a pink-ish hue around his cheeks. The bot lowers his gaze, long lashes veiling his emerald orbs. ARTHR wills himself to calm, but he isn't sure he'll ever forget the way Alfred's toned body felt under his hands.

ARTHR clears his throat. "Right, well. Now you look half-decent, so let's get going."

The English-bot leads the way, hands balled loosely and shoved in his pockets. He can't bring himself to look at Alfred, and it seems Alfred feels the same way.

…

Alfred had thought the awkward tension between them would've diffused during the walk home, but as they approached the abode they now shared, it seemed to do the opposite.

Alfred made a reach for the door-knob, expecting to open it and allow ARTHR to enter first, but just as his hand made contact with the bronze, ARTHR's hand landed atop his.

"Er-…?" He sputtered, hand still on the knob, but his gaze was now upon ARTHR.

"Ah—er…please, allow me." ARTHR rebutted, quickly averting his gaze from Alfred's, lest he be lost in a sea of cerulean.

Alfred reluctantly retracts his hand. Not because he's set on opening the door, but because he quite likes the feel of ARTHR's hands.

Once the two enter, Alfred removes his leather jacket and tosses it aside haphazardly. His attention is caught by ARTHR, who seems to be struggling with the removal of his own coat. Alfred instinctually approaches to help, standing behind the android and peeling the coat from his shoulders. ARTHR whips about to face him once the coat has been removed; his thick brows knit with…concern? Confusion?

"Oh—sorry, I-… You looked like you needed some help. That's all." Alfred places the petticoat atop his own jacket and walks hurriedly to the kitchen.

ARTHR doesn't respond.

The android makes his way to the sofa and plops into the cushions silently. His mind is racing, the motor in his chest spinning rapidly – uncontrollably. His gaze is fixated on something, fingers intertwined and his hands in his lap. He's so befuddled. ARTHR wants so badly to hate this human for everything he is; which is everything ARTHR is not. Alfred is loud, brash, untidy, and unhygienic. He drinks a beer with every meal, he wears jeans twice in a row, and picks his teeth with his fingers. And yet, whenever this ghastly human is near, ARTHR loses focus—which is really quite the statement.

For the past week now, ARTHR has been trying to blame this phenomena on a variety of things. He tried to blame it on the fact that Alfred was the first of-age human he'd been in contact with since his creation. ARTHR also tried to blame it on the fact that they spend every minute of every day together. The reason didn't seem to matter, because whatever the excuse ARTHR couldn't shake this uncanny feeling.

Alfred's raspy voice shakes him from his thoughts.

"ARTHR, you want some stir-fry?"

"Alfred, you know I don't eat. We've been over this." He responds.

"I know, I know. I just feel like I should offer you some anyways." Alfred says, lips pursed and voice soft as if embarrassed.

Alfred moves to the table, and ARTHR decides to join him. He soon regrets his decision to do so.

The British android finds himself completely distracted by Alfred. The way he brings the food to his full lips, the way he lingers with the fork in his mouth. It shouldn't have this effect on him—nothing about Alfred should have any sort of effect over him, and yet he's completely in a trance. ARTHR swallows, hands gripping at his fleshy thighs, a blush blossoms on his cheeks and extends down to his chest.

ARTHR stands abruptly, causing his chair to squeal against the floor as it's shoved backwards. Alfred's eyes go wide with surprise, and he gives pause. ARTHR leans into him, his soft fingers taking hold of Al's chin. The android plants his kisser to the human's, savoring the plush feel of Alfred's plump lips. A solid minute passes before ARTHR retreats. The bot traces his tongue across the expanse of his lower lip, tasting the remnants of Alfred – soy sauce and cheap beer, a surprisingly enticing combination. He then turns to leave, glancing over his shoulder and shooting Alfred a half-lidded glance.

Alfred remains in his chair, stunned and in a kiss-drunk stupor. His hand trails up to his lips, touching them softly—wishing eagerly to experience that kiss once more. The sounds of ARTHR's footsteps down the hallway spurrs Alfred to life. While he hates to leave a plateful of food behind, he'd be an idiot if he didn't follow suit.


	6. CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5

THE WONDERS OF TOUCH COMPATIBILITY

Alfred's graced with a pleasurable view immediately upon entering the bedroom. ARTHR stands a mere foot before him, bare backside presented. In a pool around the bot's ankles are his trousers, briefs, and blouse. The android is once again peering at him from over his shoulder. Alfred didn't think it'd be possible for a bot to have a twinkle in their eye, but ARTHR's desire was clear in his verdant lit eyes.

"Well?' ARTHR asks, but his voice isn't as shrill or nagging. Instead, it's silken and alluring. 'What do you think?"

Alfred blinks, and struggles to translate his thoughts into words. He nods, gulps, and dares to approach the brit.

ARTHR spins around slowly, presenting is toned front to the human. Porcelain flesh is pulled taught over his delicate sinew, his hips are artfully sculpted, his waist is petite and curls inwards dramatically. Then, of course, there's his sex – exposed to Alfred's eyes, hard and curved beautifully.

Alfred becomes suddenly aware of his own erection, restricted by his jeans the organ strains to be set free. His abdomen clenches deliciously.

"Is it okay?" ARTHR asks, his hands now splayed across the expanse of Alfred's chest. His thin fingers gripping at the fabric of his tee, eager to strip the human of his earthly binds.

"Yeah." Alfred breathes and lifts his thick arms above his head so the shirt can be easily removed.

ARTHR's chest heaves. Alfred's body is more delightful than he could've imagined. Tanned flesh, broad pectorals, and rippling abs that occupy his front. His arms are strong and toned, his shoulders wide and pronounced. He's quite the vision.

Next to go are Al's jeans. ARTHR's small fingers work deftly to undo the button and zipper, and with a slight tug the jeans fall to the floor. The Englishman swallows hard, his fingertips now dancing across the elastic band of Alfred's red-white-blue briefs. His arousal is obvious, accented by the skin-tight fabric which clung to his girth.

Alfred breathes in and out slowly, his brows are aloft and his lips are curled into a cocky smirk. "Well?' He mocks the bot, 'What do you think?" His voice is deep, gruff, southern.

"I've seen better." The Brit quickly retorts. Although he's never been sexually active in his life, he's pre-programmed with the necessary knowledge.

Alfred huffs, and makes his move. His large hands quickly befall ARTHR's tapered waist, fingers dipping into the sensitive silicone flesh. He draws the smaller man to him, cranes his neck so he might press a hungry kiss against those thin lips. His kiss is greedy, hot, and heavy, and soon it progresses to much more than a peck. Alfred's tongue darts forth, forces ARTHR's lips to part, and wrestles with the android's serpentine.

ARTHR seems to melt into the man's large form. He tosses his arms about Alfred's neck, pulling himself closer—if it were possible. Their chests are already pressed so tightly together that not even air could pass through. Their loins brush against each other's stomachs.

But before the two can get too comfortable, Alfred takes it up one more notch. He peels one hand from ARTHR's waist and plants it firmly against the bot's ass. His fingers and palm knead into the supple flesh, and all the while Alfred begins ushering the Brit backwards and to the bed.

The two fall into the mattress with a 'pwuff', their bodies immediately squirming and adjusting so that every part of them touches. Alfred's hulking form pressed ARTHR back into the bed, their chests once again are pressed flush together, their legs entangled chaotically. ARTHR's hands are in Alfred's hair, tugging and pulling, never allowing the other to part from their heated kiss.

The sounds of their loving begins to fill the air; a creaking bed, ragged breathing, smacking lips.

Alfred begins rolling his hips into ARTHR's, his rigid organ rubbing into the bot's silky skin. The act elicits a groan and further fuels his fire.

Without parting or disturbing their current position, Alfred reaches to the bedside table, taking from the drawer a small tube of lubricant. He peels away just enough to pour a quarter-size of lube into his palm. The thick liquid is used to coat his fingers and his cock, and then his hand eagerly dips below ARTHR's waistline.

ARTHR feels the prodding hand and obediently he parts his legs. He lazily drapes them over Alfred's strong back, and crosses his ankles together.

"Mmh~." ARTHR breathes, letting his eyes shut.

Alfred's fingers slither between the bot's cheeks, slicked fingers instantly began toying with his orifice. They swirl around the sensitive hole and prod against the center until they are bid entrance. First, Alfred cautiously slips once finger into the Brit's tight 'muscle'. One knuckle, then the next, and then the next. Once the digit is fully sheathed, he begins curling it and twirling it. Enticing ARTHR, pleasing his body enough so that he might slip another finger inside. This takes a few moments, which is understandable. But when the second finger slides in, ARTHR's hips buck.

"Agh!" He calls out, chin tilted back, back arching for a fleeting moment.

"Mm,' Alfred sighs, leaning forwards again so he might grace the bot's neck with kisses. 'You're very tight down here."

ARTHR writes beneath Alfred, his muscle clenching about his fingers deliciously. Al's experience is obvious. Be it the way he expertly curls his fingers, or lavishes the other's throat with affection. It doesn't take much to bring ARTHR to his first orgasm.

It hits him hard and fast. Causing his head to tilt back, his mouth to fall agape, and a slew of mewls to escape his pretty lips. His hips jolt forwards, his sex twitches and his muscles contract. And while ARTHR may not produce any seed, the pleasure is all the same. When his body finally still, Alfred recants his fingers.

ARTHR may be tight, but it's not as if he's a virgin. He wasn't designed that way. His crafted body can handle just about anything. Touch Compatibility is truly a blessing to mankind.

Next, Alfred adjusts their position just slightly. ARTHR's legs are still wrapped about his form, but now his hands are placed strategically above the smaller man's shoulders. Al hovers above him, his hip tilted so that the swollen head of his sex pokes and prods against ARTHR's entrance.

It's the Englishman who guides Alfred in. His small hand grasping the considerable girth, keeping it still as Alfred slowly thrusts forwards. He does not give pause until his cock is fully sheathed inside the bot's rear.

Alfred then sets his pace. Slow, steady, nothing ARTHR can't handle. Time and time again, he presses his cock into the brit's orifice, deep enough so that his head kisses that infamous spot. ARTHR writhes and wriggles, his hands gripping at anything desperately, his moaning becomes loud and ceaseless.

But Alfred does not let up. Not until they're both panting, sweating, and tip-toeing on the precipice of nirvana.

Alfred's the first to cum; his lower-half contracts deliciously and a searing heat washes over his entire being. Ribbons of white-hot semen lash forth from the slit of his sex, filling and spilling from ARTHR's ass. The orgasm causes his hips to buck, even after his seed has spilled.

And just as Alfred's climax peaks, ARTHR's body convulses again. His face is twisted with pleasure. Brows knit, mouth ajar. His hands tear at the sheets, his back curls upwards, his chin tilts back.

….

ARTHR's sleepy breathing serves as a lullaby for Alfred, encouraging him to let go and drift into a deep slumber. Their naked bodies are curled together, Alfred's chest to ARTHR's back. Just before he finally crashes, he catches glimpse of the digital clock at his bedside.

12:01, it reads.


	7. CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

A PROFESSIONAL RELATIONSHIP

Alfred wasn't sure what possessed ARTHR to do the things he did. He understood the need to organize, to work, the drive to be well dressed and presentable—all these things were programmed into him so that he could better play the role designated to him. But to make breakfast every morning?

"Alfred!' ARTHR's pitched voice called from within the kitchen. 'Breakfast is ready!"

Alfred swallowed hard and tried to put on his Happy Face.

"Oh, wow, thank you, Artie." He said meekly. "What is it?"

ARTHR's lips drew into a frown. "Eggs and toast."

"Oh! My favorite." Alfred chimed in, sitting down reluctantly at the table.

Al's gaze befell the sad plate before him and he wondered if there was something he could download to make Artie a better cook. The eggs were shriveled, dry, and black around the edges and the toast was hardly recognizable. But Alfred couldn't bring himself to say anything. Especially as ARTHR sat across from him, looking hopeful and unsure.

Alfred downs the breakfast like shots of tequila—trying eagerly to not actually taste anything.

 _It's only been three days._ He tells himself, hoping the Puppy Love will fade and he won't have to endure anymore of the robot's cooking.

….

The morning had gone without much upset, following the strict routine the pair had made for themselves. Breakfast, showers, then off to work. But there was something uncanny about this morning. As the two made their way to Alfred's Androids, Al noticed that the sidewalks were much busier than they'd ever been. Everyone other face was new, foreign, and Alfred liked to think he knew just about everyone in this town. He tried to shrug it off.

ARTHR seemed to notice it too. Or maybe it was all the dirty looks he was receiving from passerby's that made him uncomfortable.

They enter the shop from the employee entrance, and Alfred immediately goes to check to mail. Bills, lot rent notice, advertisements; the usual. The only mail worth notice was a brochure for a new factory that was being built in the uptown area.

"Hey, Artie,' Alfred calls, 'You seen this? I didn't even know they were making a factory out here." He approaches the secretariat and plops the brochure onto the countertop.

ARTHR picks it up and looks it over. "A new type of bot?" He asks, head canted on it's axis.

The brochure reads ' _ACER: PRESENTING THE NEW FRONTIER OF GAMING.'_ The front page features a sleek female android. Her skin is dark, her hair long and wavy. Her eyes are amber in hue. Apparently her name is STAC (pronounced: Stacy) which stands for STREAMLINED, TOUCH COMPATIBLE, AUXILIARY, CONSOLE. According to the information on the brochure, the factory is set to be operational in just a few weeks.

The two exchange apprehensive glances. STAC's 'birth' is going to put their little town on the map and neither seem too excited about that.

Before they can dwell on it much longer, the door chimes as it's open. Alfred's head whips around preparing to greet whomever entered his shop.

"Hey, welcome to-…' He pauses, his stare falling onto the costumer's tie-dye shirt which read ' _GOD HATES BOTS'_

"Yeah, I just want to let you know that what you do is a sin." The man chimes in.

He's large, with a pasty skin complexion and a shrunken face. His rotund belly peeks out from the hem of his shirt, and he smells of cigarettes and stale cheese. His attention shifts to ARTHR who was standing behind the counter, looking appalled. He points at him.

"Bots are the enemy of God, the enemy of humankind. They're an abomination and you—'

Alfred cuts into his spiel, face twisted with unbridled rage. He's standing close enough to the man to taste his foul odor, and despite being a few inches shorter, Alfred can be plenty intimidating when he wills it. "Get the fuck out of my shop.' He growls. 'Now, before I really snap."

The man takes a few retreating steps, but stops just before exiting to shout "BOT FUCKER!" In Al's direction. The door slams behind him.

Both Al's and Artie's gaze are drawn to the window, where they watch the man join a group of like-minded nut-jobs just outside the shop.

ARTHR sinks back into his chair, shoulders and back slumped with a look of utter defeat plastered across his beautiful face.

"I just don't understand…" He mumbles, more to himself than anyone in particular.

Alfred reacts quickly, moving to be near his partner. His mechanical limbs whirr in protest.

"Hey, now. Don't let that guy get you down, okay?' He coos, trying his best to sound reassuring. 'Some people are just really messed up in the head."

"But what did we do to deserve that?" Artie asks, voice still soft, spirit still broken.

"Well, some people just don't see how robotics has improved our way of life."

"But he called you a 'bot fucker'."

"Yeah, well… I've been called worse." Alfred rubs a hand across the expanse of ARTHR's back.

ARTHR remains quiet, sullen, and after a moment or two Alfred elects to give him some space.

…

"Is that all I am?" ARTHR asks, finally breaking his several hour silence.

"What?" Alfred inquires.

"I'm just a bot, then?' ARTHR bristles. 'I'm just a bot and you're just a 'bot fucker'?"

"What…? No. Not to me. You're Artie, you're my partner."

 _Partner?_ Alfred thinks to himself. _Are we partners? It's only been a few days, but we've already shared so much…_ He pauses. ARTHR is still silent, brooding. _Yeah. We're together—partners._

ARTHR lets his man-made body slump further into the cushion of the couch. Silently, he resents his creation. He resents what he is, and yet he knows he has no control. If he'd been born, rather than designed, maybe things would be different. _People wouldn't bother us then._ He thinks.

"Al,' He begins, 'What do people think about… people like us? What does society think about humans and androids being together?"

Alfred looks hesitant, his lips drawn tight and flat, his eyes shift around the room.

"Well,' He starts, but then gives a lengthy pause before continuing. 'People don't really like it, I guess. But I wouldn't let it—'

"Don't let it bother me.' ARTHR suddenly stands from the couch, 'I wish it were that easy, but it does bother me. I guess that settles it then."

"Settles what, ARTHR?" Alfred asks, a look of concern upon his visage.

"You and I can't do…' ARTHR wafts his hand listlessly. 'Whatever it is we've been doing."

Alfred bolts from his sitting position to follow after the android.

"Hey! Wait!" He makes a grab for the Englishbot's slender wrist.

ARTHR whips around. "What, Alfred!?"

"Hey… Don't let society dictate what we do. I don't know what's going on in your head, but I know what's going on in mind. I like you—us. I like this thing we've got going on. And it's only just started, I want…' He hesitates. 'I want to see this through."

ARTHR's face hardens and he scoffs. "Don't be an idiot, Alfred. I've seen the news. I know what people do to each other. Violent and volatile; that's what humans are! And if you don't fit their mold they'll kill you!" The bot rips his hand free of Al's grasp.

"No one's going to kill me, ARTHR, please."

"Well, if they don't kill you, they'll kill me." ARTHR bellows in rebuttal. "Anyways, you can sleep on the couch from now on. We have to be strictly professional, now."

….

Alfred lays on the couch, an old and stiff pillow behind his head and nothing but a sheet to keep him warm. Apparently ARTHR couldn't bear to part with any of his pillows or blankets— _Wait._ Alfred thinks, brows furrowed. _How did any of this shit becomes HIS anyways? That was my bed, my pillows, my blankets…_ He grunts to himself and rolls onto his side, but it doesn't matter. The couch is nearly a foot too small, and not even near wide enough for Al to get comfortable on.

Then suddenly he sits upright, brows still furrowed and his lips hard pressed. _Dammit. That's my bed._

Alfred immediately begins making his way to the bedroom, feet creeping slowly to not disturb the resting android. He steps into the room, cautious of the creaking door hinges, then slides into bed.

ARTHR murmurs and stirs, but is not roused out of his sleep-mode.

Alfred curls his body around that of his counterpart's, who fits so perfectly in the bowl of his torso. The moment their bodies meet, Al begins peppering the back of Artie's neck with delicate kisses. He begins inching down the android's back, slowly, dragging his lips across silken, porcelain flesh with each move.

ARTHR coos, "Al-…Mmh. This is not very professional of you."

"Shh." Alfred replies, nipping the bundle of flesh betwixt ARTHR's shoulder blades.

ARTHR's verdant-lit eyes flash to the clock near them, the time projected being 1:37 A.M.

"Alfred, it's very late…-' He begins twisting his body so that he might face Alfred.

"Shh…' Alfred retorts again, now littering ARTHR's thin lips with pecks. 'I'm not doing anything. Go to sleep."

ARTHR stifles a laugh and tries to force himself back to sleep.

"Stop grinding into me, then." He purrs.

Alfred stills immediately. "Mmh, stop sleeping naked, then."

"We wouldn't have this issue if you'd stayed on the couch."

"It was cold." Alfred pouts.

Alfred finally crashes at about 2:00 A.M, allowing ARTHR to drift off as well.

 _Bloody hell. I can't keep myself away from him._ ARTHR thinks. _I guess we'll just have to be extra careful._


End file.
